Lament of the Rogue Subject
by Klelthin Delargivic
Summary: Subject Delta, one of the last sole surviving Big Daddies from the Alpha Series, has an inseparable bond to the Little Sister known as Eleanor Lamb. When she is taken from him, and he is labeled the enemy of an entire city... things go from bad to worse quickly as he is forced to undergo many mental and physical challenges and onslaughts. But, is there happiness even for him? (M.)
1. Chapter 1

**Hi guys, another project I'm starting - this time with a little bit more detail and length, since I'm feeling creative.**

**Feel free to give feedback, read/review, all of that - but above all, hope you enjoy it. :)**

**Onward!**

* * *

The halls all around echo with the pitter-patter of feet and the grumblings of insane drug-addicted mutants, and then if one is to listen further – with the gentle turning hum of a camera on constant surveillance duty, and even further in the distance… a young girl singing along to the sound of a groaning giant as it stomps along the shattered floor. The walls are decorated with all sorts of graffiti depicting insanity and religious cult worship, shattered paintings and statues, and bloodshed amongst dents and hundreds of bullet holes. The room stinks of filth and death and decay, and it is rather cold and damp – but what else is to be expected? There's a flood coming from one of the bulging, smashed flood-check doors in a nearby corner of the room, and water rushes in at a slow, sluggish pace; almost as if to taunt any passerby with the knowledge that this room could become a watery coffin at any moment. Overhead, a loudspeaker barks out information meant to brainwash the residents of this underwater 'Utopia', utilized by those who yet remain unafflicted to the dangerous touch of ADAM; or at least, retain their sanity while consuming it. ADAM… the catalyst to chaos; a drug found within mutated sea slugs capable of making a human into a superhuman – gifts of increased cell regeneration, increased strength, unusual powers… all things become possible, with ADAM.

And this is where scientists embarked upon a path they ought not to have; the bastards became curious and experimented on many different denizens of this underwater Hell – and thus, with the help of a too-curious German woman, created the 'Little Sister'. But what _are _Little Sisters? Simple; by implanting a sea slug tainted with ADAM into the stomach of a small female child, one is capable of turning them into the perfect ADAM farm, and gatherer. Gifted with delusions that the world is nil save flowers, daisies, and the like, they gather ADAM from corpses of fallen mutants that they label 'Angels'. In truth, the surviving mutants, driven by the need for ADAM, ought to have been expected to hunt these little girls – and they were. Scientists introduced vile experiments upon certain individuals capable of protecting these small children, running test after test after vile test upon these men until they became something beyond that of even _superhuman._ They became… Big Daddies.

Big Daddies – donned in a heavy, thick, reinforced diving suit, they are capable of destruction and protection unparalleled. Stripped of individual thought, their voices, their free will… their sole purpose is to protect these little girls, and to follow the orders of their masters… In earlier series of Daddies, to remove the girl would result in the shutdown of the Daddy's body, and it would _kill_ the protector. As a result, these Daddies are also the strongest of the bunch and can sometimes retain free thought and will.

And that is where he, Subject Delta, came into being.

The large superhuman groans in anger as he finishes contemplating these facts – while these thoughts help to retain his sanity, it brings him angst to be put into such a position. His daughter, his bond… is to Eleanor Lamb. While this girl would not seem abnormal if she is just any Little Sister… it is ironic that she isn't just _any_ Little Sister. Her mother, the sole leader of this underwater Hell known as Rapture, has bigger plans for her daughter… some sort of savior or something along those lines, if Delta remembers correctly.

_Back on New Year's Day, Eleanor had been stolen from him, and he had been ordered under hypnosis by her mother to place a gun to his head and pull the trigger, before his little one's very eyes._

…That was ten years ago.

_Waking up in an unfamiliar place, he had been directed by the original creator of the Little Sisters who was now ridden with guilt as she realized the sins she had committed, to begin the task of rescuing her experimental children and to carry forward – without Eleanor, his body would shut down and he would die. Not that that was the sole reason he wanted his daughter back; his love for her is unconditional in any case. After a series of hundreds of mutants, who had undertaken the names of 'Splicers', had assaulted himself and the German scientist, and her group of rescued, redeemed children, he had managed to save their entire group and had been introduced to a man named Augustus Sinclair. Sinclair, a shady businessman, has had him running errands and blazing a trail of death through the halls of Rapture for as long as he could remember, in search of the ways to return Delta to his daughter._

_And yet, these plans always ended in failure; leaving Delta to handle dozens of Splicers by himself._

_Though, Delta couldn't complain; he had been put into a reinforced suit, he had the ability to carry heavy weaponry that no other creature could carry, had the ability to utilize Plasmids, and had the sense of reason that no other 'monster' had – he had a mind._

_And if all this failed him, despite the pains of dying; he would always be returned safely to the machines known as 'Vita-Chambers'; machines capable of resurrecting his fallen corpse, repairing his armor, and returning him to the fight again and again. In truth… he had yet to die, and he had no desire to. The process sounded far too painful and it felt like should he fall, it would be a victory for the enemy – and he refused to allow anyone satisfaction for his suffering._

_He had been walking about the ruins of Rapture for quite some time now, and having found himself in a quiet room… he brooded. He thought back on his misfortunes, his creation, his reason for existence… and he found himself lonelier than ever. He missed Eleanor – a company that did not hate him, or use him or any of that – she loved him for who and what he was. He wanted his daughter back, but he also yearned for a different love that even she could not grant._

He wants to be wanted.

The truth comes to him like a painful weight – in his mind, he registers the fact that the entire city wants his head, and the idea of friendship or love from any but his little one and the brief love from the Little Sisters that he rescues and adopts… is as likely to happen as him developing the ability to speak without having to strain his entire attention on the action.

Though, he is getting better at that now, too – so he can't complain. It is becoming easier to speak the more and more he tries, so it is a small, pleasant achievement for him.

Sighing inside his suit, he shakes his head tiredly and rises from the large chunk of rubble sitting in the back left corner of the room. The room is coated in smashed debris, fallen columns, and in the same gloomy form that all of the Rapture chambers are. His foot falls into a puddle and the water sloshes onto his pant-leg, causing him to shudder in annoyance. Why can't there be a minute where he isn't cold or being shot at!

The door ahead of him slides open as he approaches it, and he meanders into the glass halls connecting the adjacent building with the one he was just in. His heavy metal boots clamp hard against the stone floors, echoing down the arched paths. He scans the rooms through the glass – finding no Splicers; he is sufficiently satisfied and makes his way forward towards the adjacent building.

He shifts his right hand as he nears the massive steel gate, drawing the automated drill from his packs. Checking the fuel within it, he nods in content as it's at least half-full – an okay amount for any occasion in his mind. The only other weapon he carries is his trusty Rivet Gun; which, in his bitter misfortune, has been low on ammunition for quite some time, and no vending machines have been kind enough to be around for him to restock at. He has a few more medical kits sealed within his armor in case of attack, and he has plenty of the EVE Hypos for re-energizing his body in case he needs to utilize a Plasmid. His left hand is engulfed in electricity as he prepares to enter the next room, and his brows furrow. What will be behind this door…?

The hinges creak and the metal slab rises, and Delta blinks twice as he peers into the room; he will be on a wooden balcony overlooking a small theater. Judging by the murmur of voices within, he estimates that he'll have the drop on a small handful of Splicers – his only worry is if any more are nearby.

The radio within his helmet crackles quietly as he steps onto the wooden planks – which, to his delight, do not make any noise under his massive weight. Sinclair clears his voice and, by the tone of which he speaks, Delta assumes there's yet another problem that he's going to have to deal with.

"Alright, big guy, I got some good news… and some bad news. Good news is that you'll have a lot less Splicers to deal with in a few minutes – but the bad news is that you got one of Lamb's own taskmasters running through the halls, looking for you. These," he pauses, sighing, as there's a piercing scream from the lower floor's halls. Delta shudders once, and Sinclair continues, "…girls, are Little Sisters all grown up. They're known as 'Big Sisters'; a new attempt at replacing you guys, the Big Daddies. They're incredibly fast and have a lot of the same armor and battle capabilities as you do, but they're a hell of a lot tougher. The good thing is, they got less armor than you do and they don't resurrect at the Vita-Chambers like you do. This one's been released with the sole purpose of hunting you down – so if you can, give her the old 'One-Two' and get the drop on her as she's ripping up those Splicers. I got no other real advice for you besides… good luck, kid."

The radio crackles off, leaving Delta to lean against a nearby wall. Sighing silently, he frowns at his position – how in the _hell _is he supposed to beat down a Big Sister? He has nothing but his drill!

The second ear-splitting screech comes to the room, and the Splicers writhe in terror as they realize her approach is imminent, and hysteria breaks out among the crazed gang below.

"We're gonna' die!"

"Someone help me!"

"Shut your mouth, bitch! She's about to be here…"

A dark, looming, thin figure appears out of practically _nowhere_ as the first Splicer cries in agony; his innards become 'outards' as a long, heavy blade pierces his stomach. Delta swallows hard, carefully sneaking along the balcony to the place overlooking the battle unfurling below. He watches as the Splicers are systematically and hurriedly cut down, and as the last is being gutted… he knows it's time to act.

His drill spins into action, he grips the railing, and he hops over the edge – straight down onto the unsuspecting Big Sister.

_Here goes nothing…_


	2. Chapter 2

**12-5-2013; Hi again, posting a bit more as I have plenty of free-time today while I'm sick. I'm aiming to update this a few more times today, but we'll just have to see. I'm hoping this comes out as I imagined it, and I hope it makes sense. :)**

**Onward!**

* * *

The Splicer howls in agony as her final moments fill with the vision of her own blood being sprayed across the cold floor, and she stretches a hand weakly out as though to grasp for some invisible force. Delta prays for his good fortune as the elite assassin remains unknown to his attack, and as the force of his body slams her down into the floor beneath him, he draws his drill back angrily to prepare for the first strike.

But he is too slow.

He is quickly thrown off the Sister's back, and he tumbles onto his backside as she shrieks. Leaping into the air, her claw-like fingers dig into a wooden beam as she peers down at him from above; a hawk watching its prey with deathly eyes. Delta shudders, hopping back to his feet as she kicks off her perch, and rockets toward him. Focusing his mind, he allows electricity to course through his left arm, and expels it into the air as a blue bolt collides with his adversary. A pained cry comes as she hits the floor abruptly, and Delta staggers forward, hopping into the air. Positioning his drill, the machine spins to life and he crashes into the floor where the Sister had just been – much to his dismay, as he is found hoping she was still there. Ignoring the large crater, he straightens his back and his head twists in comparison to that of a confused owl; his eyes dart about the room frantically in search for his more agile adversary. _Where is she…?_

The room is empty, save for him and an abundant amount of corpses.

Did he scare her way?

Sinclair's voice comes into his suit once more, but this time with ecstatic joy in his tone. He cheers and congratulates the Alpha Series Daddy. "Congratulations, sport! You managed to scare her off! Now you got some time to catch your breath – and good news; there's a Circus-of-Values machine in the next room! We're makin' progress, big guy. Let's keep it going!"

Delta lets a hefty groan answer the businessman, and he shifts his shoulders tiredly. Sifting through the contents of the Splicers, he adds a small wad of dollars to his abundant amount and his suit automatically uses an EVE Hypo to replenish his powers. While he is only to use a small amount of his power in his Plasmids, he discovered a time ago that if he dumps all of his power into a single strike – the resulting electric bolt is much more damaging and much more stunning than the small waves that he is recommended to send.

Experimentation – even Delta does it.

He yawns, and he trudges through the door leading out of the theater into a moderately-sized lobby area. A few rooms leading to other theaters are gated off, and the main statue in the center of the room atop the staircases leading up and down to other floors is in shabby condition; once again, ruins litter the area just as in the rooms before. Growing used to this gloomy atmosphere, he shrugs it off and makes his way to the vending machine. Bending his knees, he tears out the small access panel on the back of the machine and quickly hacks into the machine's mainframe – reduced prices and a free item; awesome.

A canister of drill fuel bounces out of the machine, and he happily adds it into the fuel contents of his drill as he glances over the contents of the machine. Drill fuel, first aid kits, EVE hypos, candy, food… Rivet gun ammo! Delta quickly pumps his fist into the air happily, and then punches in the numbers required, getting the ammunition. Counting out the needed amount of dollars to purchase three packs of rivets, he slides the money in. The machine rumbles and he ignores the urge to punch the laughing clown as the containers bounce out for him to grab. Drawing out his trusty gun, he tops off the current clip and stuffs the remaining ammunition away for safe-keeping. He grins behind his screen as a satisfying fact comes to him.

He is finally a force to be reckoned with in all fields once again.

Glazing over the room, he nods to himself and sets to work scouring over the contents of the area, and then progresses up the stairway leading higher in the building. His boots are deafened slightly by the red carpet beneath his feet, and he listens intently to the sound of the rushing water coming from a small leak within the roof of the upper floor; the clear liquid comes down and runs over the top of the statue, creating a small waterfall. The sound is peaceful, serene. Delta's mind clears and he scales the stairs pleasantly, contentedly listening to the break in the bloodshed. Arriving at the top of the stairs, he glances around in intrigue, taking in the cozy scene before him.

The room altogether isn't as cozy as he'd hope, but it seems alright. Its original use must have been for socialization between citizens visiting the theater, as multiple old sofas and chairs have been arranged around wooden tables with small shelves and end-tables lining the room. In the center, a small bar has been established, and the walls are made of reinforced glass – no doubt for staring into the sea to watch the wildlife or other buildings. The lights are in adequate management, and the lighting is altogether brighter than in most regions of Rapture. The area is entirely silent, and Delta scans for any signs of life – but finds none. Smiling behind his mask, he makes his way forward into the establishment and walks about it. These brief moments of respite have become infrequent and far more cherished than the Daddy first thought, and he intends to make as much out of this respite as he can. Gathering up the supplies, he whistles merrily to himself as he gathers and scours. There's a radio on the edge of the bar, blaring an old song he doesn't recognize, and there's a soft sound of running water from the sole hole in the wall that he had noticed earlier, adding a serene, inviting feeling to the scene. Settling in one of the chairs in the opposite corner of the room, facing the only staircase leading into this region, Delta hums to himself as he eases into his seat. His gloved hands rub up and down the soft fabric of the squishy seat, and contentedness washes over his person. If Sinclair had been paying attention at this instant, he must understand that these moments aren't to be interrupted, as the radio remains silent and dead. Delta yawns, shutting his eyes for a moment as he dares for a plausible minute or two of relaxation.

_Sleep…_

* * *

Delta's ears twitch in warning as his head jerks up. Awake and alert, his eyes dart to and fro to the sounds of footsteps and whispers following what sounds to be a column falling. _Who's there…?_ Clenching his hands into fists, he scans his surroundings and focuses his attentions on his hearing. _From every direction…_

Slipping out of his chair and to his feet, he straightens his back cautiously and peers about. _Still nothing…_

"Die, asshole!"

His eyes widen and he lurches forward – but to his surprise, it isn't him that is attacked. A clatter of metal and muffled movement comes from the floor below him, and a whale-like groan follows. _They're assaulting a Big Daddy in the lobby!_ Racing toward the stairwell, he creeps down the stairs and looks into the room – twelve Splicers pounce on a Big Daddy trapped beneath fallen rubble. Pity wells in the Alpha, and he watches the Big Daddy as it suffers through assault after brutal assault.

_No!_

Drawing his rivet gun from its place on his person, he quickly aims down the gun and pulls the trigger once, sending a vicious rivet into the head of one of the assailants. The man howls in agony and falls to the floor as his head explodes from impact, and Delta turns his gun over to snipe another. The Splicers hop and jump in surprise, their eyes centering on him.

"A monster helping a monster? I shouldn't be surprised!"

"Too bad he's too late! Hahahahah!"

"Let's get this one too, eh!"

"Die, you metal bastard!"

Delta rains heavy metal down upon the attacking mass as they now charge his location. Rapidly reloading his rivet gun, he swaps to his drill and his spare hand erupts in lightning once more. His eyes narrow on the shallow pool the Splicers slosh into, and he grins in fortune. _Perish!_ Electricity explodes from his hand, spearing into the ground without mercy as the small bolts spread and pierce the first five unlucky fiends. They scream and shout in horror as their organs twist and rupture from the current, and blood sloshes from puncturing holes appearing throughout their bodies. The corpses fall to the floor, and five Splicers remain.

Delta's drill spins into action as he barrels forward, and he groans ferociously before slicing through the first of the remaining bunch. Blood coats his suit, and he sends the mutilated corpse flying as he blocks a wrench being swung at him with his left hand. Gripping the wrist of the man, he allows electricity to flow from him into his opponent who screams in terror. His eyes rupture, and he is tossed aside as Delta smacks away another Splicer's pipe. Drill meets skin, and a large hole is made in the center of the woman's torso as she falls to the floor, dead.

Two more must perish…

As Delta straightens his back, he looks around in mild surprise. _They turned tail and fled. Humph._ Walking over the corpses without a hint of remorse, he hurriedly makes his way to the bleeding Daddy and kneels beside him. Judging by the vaguely familiar diving helmet, Delta assumes this is an early version of the Rosie model. Its screen flashes green in greeting, and it weakly waves a hand of gratitude to the Alpha Daddy. Blood pours from multiple holes in its suit, and Delta grimaces in knowing. _I can't save him…_

The Rosie motions to its rivet gun lying a distance away, and Delta's screen flashes a brighter yellow than usual in questioning curiosity. Waving him away, the Rosie motions to it once more, and Delta retrieves it for him. Handing it to the dying Daddy, Delta sits back beside his dying brother, who fiddles with the gun for a few moments. As Delta sits, contemplating possible ways to yet save his newfound friend, the Rosie sputters once, coughing up presumably blood.

"Good… bye, bro…ther."

Delta watches in horror as the Rosie points the gun towards its own head. _Brother! _He moves to take the gun away – but is too late. The trigger pulls and blood sloshes through the air, and the diving helmet explodes on impact. The Rosie falls finally, its hands cold and dead.

_… Why…_

Delta falls to his knees, his eyes staring in disbelief at the dead, trapped giant. He… he had a mind! He was… alive! He could have been saved! He could have been… he could have…

Sinclair sighs into the radio, swearing. "I know how bad this must feel for you, big guy – but that was his choice. I can see why he did it… No one wants to be a mindless slave, let alone trapped in one of those suits for all eternity, to do the bidding of a mad woman. But, try not to…," he drifts off as Delta's fist meets the ground angrily.

"…No!"

The radio crackles off, leaving Delta alone to wallow in his thoughts. The subject's mind races in bitter anger and loneliness. He could have been saved! Why did he have to… die…? Why does _he_ always have to be alone? Why, why, why?

Knowing no answer is going to come to him, Delta reluctantly draws himself back onto his feet. His screen is a dark yellow, almost a melancholy, dirty bronze. Having forgotten the peaceful serenity of earlier, the pain of failure and isolation wells inside him. Twisting his head, he glares about the lobby. Staring down at the Splicers in bitter hatred, he checks over their bodies, and then looks over the Rosie's – but not without blatant mind-wracking pain as his hands quiver while he dismantles the blood-coated rivet gun – and then stands back at the bottom of the stairs, looking around. His eyes roll to the floor for a few moments, and he grunts angrily. Reeling his fist back, he slams it into one of the few remaining pillars; it buckles underneath his force, and the slab of stone crumbles and breaks apart before him. Stomping away, he huffs and makes way for the stairwell leading down to the next floor beneath him.

Above the unaware Alpha, the wounded Sister from earlier watches his actions in curiosity; _that behavior isn't the behavior of a monster… Why did he care that the other Daddy died? Strange…_

Deciding in her current state that she is far too weak to engage her opponent, and finding a sense of intrigue in his actions… she trails after him silently. Hopping from the rafters, she quietly descends the stairs in chase of the Alpha.


	3. Chapter 3

**12-6-2013; Hey again, guys. Adding an update onto the series as much as I can - this one took a little bit as my creativity and thoughts have been sorta' scattered today. Sorry if it's a little choppy or makes a little less sense. :( Though, I hope you all enjoy it, and hope I did okay.**

**Once again, onward! Let's plunge further into Rapture!**

* * *

Delta wanders along the halls of Rapture once more, his hands grudgingly balled into fists at his sides. The city is silent presently, which only now sours his mood rather than improves it. His loneliness toys with him as the scene of the dying Rosie replays in his mind constantly, like a glitched movie. Helplessness wells up inside him, and he lets his hands go limp as he groans in sadness. Is this how it will always be for him? Why is wanting to reunite with his daughter such a problem, anyway? He isn't trying to take her away from the 'Family' that she resides in – he just wants to be at her side!

Movement somewhere near him breaks him from his melancholy state, and his head jerks upward and twists and turns in agitation. _What now?_ Now that he stops to pay more attention to his present location… he is in some sort of small office. He should stop walking without being aware of where he's going... Damn it. The door to his left is bolted shut with an irritating door control alarm beeping along noisily behind it. He groans in annoyance, trudging into the small alcoves of the room as he systematically checks through the desks and delivery boxes in an attempt to ignore the alarm. In his search, a large glove catches his eye, and with his curiosity piqued, he grabs and pulls it from its hiding place. Straightening his body as he stands up, he looks over it in intrigue as Sinclair's voice penetrates his thoughts once more.

"Kid, that's a long-distance hack tool! If you load a dart into the small mechanism at the top of it, you can fire them off at objects that you normally can't reach. It has a few other uses too, but I don't think you've got the other ammunitions anywhere nearby. Since we have a door alarm over yonder, how about…," the man cuts off as he watches in horror; Delta slips the glove into his packs and instead brings his fist into the glass window separating the office from the next hallway, and he hops through it. "…Or… or that. That works too," he laughs nervously as he finishes his sentence, and Delta chuckles in response. Trudging around the corner into the room with the door control, he quickly hacks into it and opens the door in case he comes through later, and gathers a couple more wads of dollars. Satisfied with his way of dealing with the obstacle, and with the quiet silence now present after the vile device shut off, he grins behind his mask and continues forward. "Y'know, kid," Sinclair mutters into his ear; receiving a grunt from the Daddy, the businessman pauses in hesitation, and then proceeds with his thought. "I've been thinkin'… Now, I know it ain't any of my business, but… why are you going through all this? For Eleanor?"

The Alpha Series stops, surprise blinking on his screen. _Why _am _I doing this?_ The air settles for a minute, and only the sounds of the pipes rumbling above echo about the room. Delta frowns as minutes pass, and he shrugs.

"I do it… because I love my daughter. Because I have to do it… for her."

Judging by the lack of an immediate response, the Daddy suspects he managed to catch the aging businessman off-guard. Pursing his lips, he shakes his head and progresses down the hall without another sound as his eyes scan along the walls for any hidden Splicers. A couple bodies dot the floor, but nothing in particular shows any signs of life save himself, and the giant subtly wonders in prayer if the Family has chosen to give up the constant hunt. Dabbling in his own thoughts, Delta is oblivious as the Big Sister creeps after him from a safe distance; curiosity remains blatant on her expression behind her helmet, and as she realizes more and more about this strange man…

…She is fascinated by him.

He clomps along clumsily, she notes, but she also acknowledges the care he takes in everything that he handles – how gentle he can be; how _kind_ he can be. A warm, somewhat familiar affection wells inside her as she watches him. _Maybe I'm hunting the wrong Alpha Series…?_ No, that can't be it – none of the others even have the ability to think, let alone… have emotion. _Is Mother mistaken? Perhaps she meant a rogue Daddy under her control? Mr. Bubbles—I mean, Subject Delta can't be the monster that…_ Her mind stops as she jumps in fright. Her target pauses ahead of her, and he's bent over; his hands are tending to a small Sentry Bot as he repairs it with dutiful hands. The Sister takes this time to dart behind a column, watching him inquisitively. Just what _is_ Subject Delta?

Delta hums a thoughtful tune – something from his past before he came to Rapture, he assumes – and his hands expertly wander over the small bot in his care. He applies a tiny bolt of electricity into the mainframe of the robot to jumpstart it, and he fiddles carefully with the wiring linked to its duties and obligations; he can't have it shooting him in the back as an enemy while in a scuffle with Splicers, after all. Once finished and his fiddling found fruitful, he clicks the power source on and shuts the wiring panel as the small inhuman object spins to life. It hums happily, floating around his head amiably, and his screen flashes a jubilant green. Pleased with his work, he motions to the bot to follow him, and the duo set off with the Big Sister stalking at their heels in the shadows.

* * *

Stopping for a moment at an intersection a distance ahead from where he picked up the robot, Delta glances down the three hallways he can make his way through, and he grimaces. Which way leads to what? Tapping the button on his helmet to page Sinclair through the radio, the southern voice rouses awkwardly from a quiet, human slumber. From Delta's end, he smirks as he hears Sinclair cough in surprise, his hands flying up as he presumably tilts back in his seat, and then Sinclair shouts in frustration; hurried shifting follows what sounds to be an upturned seat, and his attention returns to the radio.

"Damn it, kid. You can't just do that while I'm sleepin'. I was having a good dream where I wasn't in this hell-hole anymore…!" He drifts off; realizing the lack of sympathy this topic deserves from his partner. "Ahh, whatever. Lemme' see where you are… Oh! Oh, crap. You're at the intersection. Uhhh…" Delta grumbles in agitation, and Sinclair laughs nervously. "Well, I didn't expect you to make it here while I was sleeping. Uhh… lemme' tell you what's down each of the halls. Uh, to the right leads to an aging medical wing, but there's still plenty of stuff in there if you need it. Down… the center, there's going to be what's left of a restaurant once used by the bigwigs of Rapture – plenty of Splicers still running around, meaning plenty of bodies and shooting and stabbing and all that. Down along that left hall… looks like a supply room for the maintenance crew. That one might be worth a good poking through first, since there might be some information to scrounge up, or some workers to drill for clues as to what Lamb's up to. Want to give 'er a go?"

The superhuman shrugs in indifference and his heel pivots as he starts down the left hall. Waving his hand, he motions at his little companion to come along – and the bot whirs and trails after him noisily. Diverting his attention over into the great blue sea beside him, Delta sighs as his gaze follows along a large squid lazily drifting through a school of small fish, and he frowns. _What is the point of all of this? What if Eleanor doesn't want me to return to her?_

Shaking his head hurriedly, he wills the negativity from his mind and his brows furrow. The door leading to the maintenance room slides up and out of the way and the destructive Daddy steps in. Basic amenities and utilities are visible lying strewn about all over and, much to Delta's dismay, the workforce appears to have already been cut down – bodies litter the floor in pools of red, with deep gashes tracing from their lower torsos up through their necks, into their skulls. The scene would be grotesque to most, and Sinclair gags over the radio, but Delta shrugs the gore off with little difficulty. _Nothing new…_ Pressing into the room, he kneels beside the mutilated corpses and looks them over. _Judging by the gashes… it must be one of those 'Big Sisters'. No Splicer or Daddy has a weapon that can make cuts this clean. Though, it must be one hell of a sharp needle. Good thing I never found out._

A thorough look-over of each of the bodies proves to the Daddy that the mutilations are relatively recent, and it occurs to him that Lamb's tabs on him are now likely continuing in a more discrete, hindersome manner. _How nice of her._ Clenching a fist, he mutters a few curses under his breath and embarks on the task of surveying what remains of the room. _Perhaps there's a clue or two left to still salvage, or something I can use…?_

Rummaging through the few desks in the corner of the room, and then checking through the cabinets, the lone man shuts his eyes and breathes in deeply. _Picked clean and all evidence destroyed. Damn it. _Allowing a moment of respite for himself in his fruitless scavenging, he props himself against the wall atop a desk, letting his legs dangle over the metal drawers as he leans his head back. The fan rotating endlessly above piques his interest and he muses with thoughts regarding the device for a time unknown to him – time is becoming irrelevant in his eyes, and he finds counting it rather pointless as the hours drag on. _Why keep track, since I'm supposedly a dead man walking, anyway…_ His gaze averts, and his pupils center on his companion bot as it hovers defensively in front of the door. _What in the world? Is someone there?_

Slipping back onto his large feet, he tiptoes over and stands beside the door. A hand slides down, and firmly grips the handle of the rivet gun as he tugs it into his arms. Rolling the gun gently in his fingertips, he swallows hard and his eyes train on the door in anxious anticipation. Who is outside?

He slams a fist against the wall, sending a warning echo through the thick metal. He shrugs sheepishly to himself as he can feel it reverberate into the glass tube-like halls, and a short yelp in fright follows it. _What in the world…?_ His bot buzzes in menace – although, to Delta, it isn't that frightening, but perhaps that's to be expected – and the mounted sentry gun strapped to it revs up in preparation.

A scuffling of quick metal feet scraping the stone floor sound from the other side of the wall, and Delta swings his weight around. The door slings open before him, and he charges forward into the hall; his eyes dart along the transparent glass, and he spots a Big Sister frantically fleeing the tunnel. She dives to the left, dashing into the restaurant and the door slams shut behind her.

"Now what in Hell's blazes was _that?_ That can't have been the Big Sister that diced the workers up; too skittish. Kid, have you been being followed without knowing it?" Delta's eyebrows rise in bewilderment as he contemplates the event. Why a Big Sister would be spying on him if they are to be so much stronger than…

_Of course! The one that I blasted with a supercharged Electro Bolt…! If she didn't receive any medical attention, she surely wouldn't stand a chance against me right now. She's been following me this entire time instead? She can't be the bug that's watching me for Lamb. She'd need to return to give her findings in timespans that aren't possible…_

The renegade subject tilts his head in utter confusion. Hasn't he left himself open to ambush more than a dozen times since that fight? And wouldn't Lamb send for reinforcements to aid the Sister, since she wouldn't have been able to return to show she is alright? _Unless… she does not care for what happens to her 'children'. Humph…_

Sinclair coughs, gathering Delta's attention quickly as the contemplative Daddy realizes he has been toning his partner out for quite some time. Groaning in question at his ever-wise teammate, Delta shrugs innocently as the man sighs into the radio. "Damn it, kid – let me try and say this quickly so you don't ignore me again. While it may not matter much to you, but I'm sure it's crossed your mind just as fast as it crossed mine… that Sister's wounded, and she just dove into a hornet's nest of deranged murderous lunatics to avoid _you._ Now, I'm not saying I care what happens to her… but you'd be losing out on a good amount of ADAM…" Sinclair stops speaking, grumbling into the microphone transmitting his voice across the radio. "I can tell by the way you've been acting that the latter fact doesn't matter much, but you'll be going to play the hero anyway. Fine, fine; have it your way."

Delta snickers inside his suit for a moment, knowing the man's lack of empathy is only a rouse. His expression hardens, and his grip on the rivet gun strengthens as his posture corrects itself. Blinking twice in anxiety, his lips purse; _I may not have saved the Rosie… but I will save this Big Sister – enemy or not, she does not deserve to die at the hands of Splicers._ Inhaling deeply in preparation, he steels his resolve and nods inwardly at his self-appointed goal. He will save each and every person he is able to in this underwater Hell.

Clunking down the hall, he turns to the left and rushes toward the door leading into the supposed nest of Splicers. The door flies open, and he raises his rivet gun.

_I will not fail again._


	4. Chapter 4

**12-12-2013; Well, I'm finally back, guys. Sorry about the last few days not having anything - I got caught up playing through Bioshock 2 again, and Bioshock Infinite, so... whoops. :S**

**Thanks for the really kind reviews, I really appreciate it! I hope this chapter does okay, my writing's been sort of confusing and choppy since I stopped before. Hope it's enjoyable though, and I intend to try and update again soon - and, maybe, I'll be writing a bit more fluently again.**

**And now, without further ado - onward!**

* * *

The room is far larger than first expected as Delta steps into it. He slacks his grip on his rivet gun, looking around curiously; a 'restaurant for bigwigs' doesn't really fit – more like an old, fancy club. The room is rectangular, with a massive stone stage along the back wall presumably used for entertainment overlooking a marble-floored diner. Short steps built along the sides of the seating area and stage lead onto long, wooden railed rises. A dim lighting coats the room with an eerie feeling, and Delta shudders as he progresses in. The railings are in moderate condition, and the wooden floorboards somehow do not creak under Delta's weight as he steps along them. The wooden planks are relatively clean, with the bulk of clutter and debris based in the center area; tables remain upturned and chairs are broken and smashed, but the place is still usable – a decent reason why Splicers would set up residence here. Three doors lead from the room besides the entrance utilized by the Alpha Daddy; one on the far left, and two beside the stage. A flood-light hooked above on the ceiling casts a bright ray down onto the massive stone stage, lighting it.

Lying weakly in the center of the circular stage is a familiar, armored frame. Her back is pressed up against the wall as she is doubled over, clutching her stomach in agony. A groan comes, and she shudders as her eyes fall upon the Daddy across the way. Horror fills her in sight of him, and she sputters as blood drips from her mouth. Running in her weakened condition earlier probably ruptured something in her body after it had been burned in that electric bolt… _Damn it._

Now noticing the girl, Delta approaches her cautiously, making his way along the outer rim of the room. Glazing over the Sister, he frowns guiltily. _She's hurt. _Though… _why_ does he feel guilty? She has been sent to eliminate him – and yet, he feels bad for her. Stepping onto the stage, he clomps over to her side and looks down at her in hesitation. What should he do now?

The Sister shuts her eyes as tears well in them, a feeling of dread claiming her. Surely, now that he has caught up with her… he will make sure she will die… mercilessly. After all, she has tried to kill him… But, she doesn't want to die – especially not to Mr. Bubbles. While the newer generation Sisters and Mother find the Daddies stupid and replaceable, she and many of the Little Sisters that grew up with Big Daddies as their guardians see them as shining knights and heroes. She admits it bothers her that she is chosen to kill one of her heroes when he has protected _her_ and her sisters many times in the past. Now that he looms over her… she hates all of it. She wants to cry and have Mr. Bubbles hold her as she sobs and have him sit and pat her head and make it all okay. And now… she'll die to her hero.

Breathing in, Delta steels his emotions and sluggishly lowers himself to his knee beside her. In truth, he still expects a sharp needle through his stomach at even this very moment – but he knows she is far too weak now to manage even that. Judging by her posture…she probably ruptured most of the organs and muscles in her lower abdomen, and he doubts she has any medical kits to use on herself. Gazing upon her, he purses his lips. For some strange reason, he has the urge to… hold her. Outstretching a hand, he tries to motion to her that he means no harm, but to his dismay – she remains silent.

She watches him in disbelief as his hand twists and turns gingerly in strange sign language, and she could swear he's trying to show he means no harm. But that can't be… isn't he supposed to want to hurt her for being sent to kill him? Shouldn't he want to grind her into nothingness for her being his sworn enemy? Why is he being… kind?

The Daddy tilts his head inside his helmet curiously. Her screen is a curious, almost longing yellow – does she understand his gestures? Gulping in prayer that she does, his hand lowers onto her young form. She jumps at his touch, but makes no further movement as he inspects her condition – as expected, her outer body is fine, but she needs immediate attention for internal bleeding. He frowns, and he gently tugs at her hand to release her grip on her stomach. He can sense hesitation in her, but she reluctantly agrees and draws her hand back. Gingerly, he lays his fingers on her torso, and stares at the metal. _Would the first aid liquids seep through her armor, or should I employ it directly into her suit's mechanics?_

As he debates, she groans in agony and he grimaces. _I can't risk wasting the kits; I need to sync them to her body._ Motioning to her, he takes her arm and turns it over in his grip. Her screen remains centered on his movements as he fiddles with her armor, and she jumps in shock – nearly scaring the life out of Delta, as he hadn't anticipated her flinching – as a warm red liquid squelches throughout her. Delta slips back, sliding onto his backside as he inches back a small distance in anxiousness. Now, how will she react now that her body will rejuvenate?

The Sister is at first, frightened; what is this warmth overtaking her? _Did he synchronize medical kits to my armor, like he did with his?_ She blinks in amazement at her savior as the sharp pains within her body slowly subside, and her strength returns slightly. Did he just use _his_ medical munitions to save _her_? She remembers he never bothered to buy any when he had the chance earlier, so he's either running very low or out of medical supplies. _Mr. Bubbles… saved me?_

Noiselessness hangs over the room as pipes rustle and quake, water filtering through them endlessly. The two masters of death shift uncomfortably in unspoken uncertainty. The question is… _now what?_ How is she supposed to act in response to his mercy? Her eyes train on his form as they wander over his burly, stocky figure. He's a rather impressive hulking beast – she can give him that; his limbs are sturdy and massive, and his movements underline those of the perfect killing machine… and yet, he exhibits and emits warmth and kindness unparalleled; forgiveness, and more. Limitless amounts of warmth, if she has any say in an estimate. She frowns behind her metal dome, watching as he mutely scans the room like a turret. Speaking of which… where _is_ that little bot of his?

An explosion to the right side of the room hints where it _used_ to be, and fear fills the Sister. A large group of Splicers now file angrily into the theater-like dining area, inspecting the destroyed machine and then the duo on stage. _Not now…_

"…Is that a Big Daddy and a Big Sister… just _sitting there_ on our stage?" one asks his colleagues, his eyebrows peaked. The others nod, and their feet shift subtly as they step closer to them. _Not good… I can't move. And Mr. Bubbles…_ Subject Delta's head swivels as he stumbles to his feet, growling menacingly at the aggressors. The group pauses, their body language exuberating high levels of doubt. "Whoa there, big guy… We're not gonna' hurt ya'… but we don't like how you're in _our_ turf, ya' see…"

The vile creatures' eyes fall onto the Big Sister beside Delta, and his growl intensifies. _They are not laying a hand on her, no matter what._ The urge to kill them rises as he studies their persons; they hold little of value to him, but he can still scavenge their bodies and restock his supply of medical kits – which has now dwindled to an extremely low amount. Curses for his misfortune!

"Hey, hey – why so protective of that _thing_, big guy? I know you're the renegade Daddy that has everyone rustled up, why are you getting in our way? She'd give plenty of ADAM for all of us, y'know…" The leader of the group tries to reason and assure the Big Daddy, and the Sister whimpers in fright. _Mr. Bubbles wouldn't abandon me… right?_

"…Touch her, and die."

Bewilderment spreads throughout the room in rampant, lightning speed. All eyes narrow on the large wall of death in confusion, and jaws fall agape. _Did Mr. Bubbles just talk?_ The Splicers' heads turn to stare at one another unsteadily, with nervous expressions. Everyone shifts uncomfortably as the Big Daddy draws his drill, letting his hand explode into a raging storm. He growls once more, his visor turning an angered red as his legs spread and his Plasmid hand clenches into a hard fist. Poised to attack, his dark, looming, husky voice echoes through the room once more as he looks over the crowd.

"Get… away. She is… with me."

Delta hangs at the edge of the stage, his eyes training on each and every individual Splicer with intense focus. _I have to be careful; no risky hits unless necessary. _He spins his drill once menacingly, hoping to deter the deranged freaks – but much to his dismay, and his expectations, they remain only slightly fazed. The leader mumbles something too quiet for the armor-clad devastator, but the lone Father grunts to retrieve the group's attention. A temporary mock peace clutches desperately at the room, and the blaring silence is only broken as the Big Sister behind Delta grunts in pain; _she's still immobilized… Oh, hell._

"…No hard feelings, you metal _freaks_, but it's do or die out here. Get him, guys! Then we can kill that _thing_ behind him!"

Delta leaps from the stage posthaste, his drill spinning up to full blast as he crashes down into the group – straight through one of the slower Splicers. Staggering to his feet behind the room, he smacks away a pipe and engulfs the nearest fiend in blue bolts, and then blocks another blunt weapon with his drill; the spinning machine rips the weapon from his opponent's hand, pulling his arm into the sharp spiral. Blood sprays out, coating Delta's helmet as he slices through the wounded, reeling attacker, and then dives for the center of the room. Situating himself for a moment behind one of the sturdier tables, bullets begin to rip through the room at his hiding place, and he inhales harshly. Swapping to his rivet gun, he loads it and pops his head and gun arm from behind the shredding wood and tugs hard at the trigger. Rivets fly from the heavy machine, and he ducks behind the wood again. He grumbles once no utterances of pain come, and his eyes widen after noticing the trio of Splicers rushing toward him from across the room. Aiming his gun, he brings one down and bats at the other two. Jerking his head away from a wrench, it slams into his arm and causes him to groan in agony – crushing his fist into the stomach of the assaulting Splicer, he releases a forceful blast of organ-disintegrating electricity into his foe. EVE squelches through his body and he kicks at the shins of the last of the three; a bone-shattering crunch echoes and a cry of horror follows as the third slams into the ground, clutching at their broken foot.

The gunfire stops, and Delta grimaces – _that is _really _not a good sign. I didn't kill the gunners, so where…_

The Big Sister on the stage screams in pain and Delta's eyes widen in terror. The remaining Splicers went straight for her, and now had her at gunpoint. _Fuck!_ He raises his rivet gun to fire, but cannot click the trigger fast enough. The rivet strikes the would-be assailant's arm, but the trigger is pulled as metal meets flesh; his Sister howls in anguish, and blood sprays from her stomach. Head-butting the gunman's knee, her heavy dome clangs through the air and the man falls, but he fires another round into her knee. She shrieks, clutching weakly at her body as blunt weapons fall upon her form. Delta's red screen glows an even more hellish color as a brutal ferocity broils within him. _How DARE they attack her! _Roaring a sound of death, he allows the full force of his voice carry through the room. Dazed by his roar, the Splicers stagger back and clutch at their ears as Delta leaps onto the stage.

Blasting the last few Splicers with charged electrical storms, he dices them apart mercilessly. Protectiveness engulfs him, and he is thorough as he stamps and cuts the life from the final survivors; various muscles, bones, and cartilage crack and crunch underfoot and are torn apart with the aid of his drill, and Delta snarls at each anguished cry of agony and plea for mercy. His visor flares scarlet, and he heaves heavy breaths as he looms over the mutilated, obliterated corpses. Moments pass, and a weak whimper draws him back from his fury as he turns his full attention to the Big Sister. An unknown force compels him, and he scoops her into his arms gingerly. Clomping away from the death, he exits back into the intersecting hall as the Sister's hand grasps at his chest in confusion.

_What is… Mr. Bubbles… doing…?_ Her vision clouds and blackness creeps at her consciousness as a frightening numbness slowly settles into her. She gasps for air as another door opens, and semi-clean white walls surround them. _Where are…?_ She is gently set on something mildly cushioned, and her head slumps into what feels to be a pillow. Bright lights cast from overhead, and her eyes strain to look about the room.

Altogether bluish rather than the initially thought white, the room is a medical wing. The walls are worn and scratched, but are relatively well-maintained, and lead into a plaster ceiling and a blue-and-green tiled floor. Various shelves, dressers, and other medical utilities line the walls and floors, and blinding lights shine hard from above. The Alpha Daddy stomps back into the room with multiple tools resting in his large arms, and he sets them down on a small table beside the bed that the Sister lays upon. She outstretches her hand unsurely, and a firm hand squeezes her own comfortingly. _Mr. Bubbles is going to take care of me…_ She smiles timidly at the gentle giant, her visor flashing a faint green.

Delta stands over the young girl with pursed lips. He knows medical basics, but he has no ways of numbing her. _Well, besides…_ He pauses, frowning. He looks at her and squeezes her hand reassuringly once more, and then sighs. "For…give me." She nods. He lets a small dose of blue electricity seep into her nerves, and watches her stiffen at the effect – but no grunts of pain. Grabbing at his stack of medical tools, he immediately sets to work at cleaning the bloody holes in her shattered armor; stemming her blood-loss comes before surveying the blunt strikes dotting across her body. She writhes under his hands, and gasps painfully as alcohol runs over the jagged wounds. She bites her lip, blood running from it and forces her eyes tightly shut, whimpering while he works. Minutes pass, and he frowns – to remove the bullets would risk causing more blood to be lost, but is leaving it inside her such a good concept?

Hands wrap around his arm, clutching hard at him. He turns his head to look down at the girl's dome, and sighs. She whimpers at him and her hands dig into the fabric of his visor glows a weak green and he kneels beside the operating table; her hands shift from his arm to his head as she tugs his against her own, and growls as her metal dome clanks against his mask. She motions to remove her helmet, and Delta frowns – _is that such a good idea? I can't take mine off without it hurting, so wouldn't Big Sisters be the same…?_

Sinclair's voice crackles in finally, and Delta jumps slightly in surprise – which causes the Sister to jump as well. The aged man speaks slowly into Delta's radio, educating him. "Son, I'm not going to pry much since this feels private now that you got the medical out of the way, but I know what you're thinkin'; it won't hurt her to detach her helmet. They didn't do anything weird to the Big Sisters' faces – after all, they used to be Little Sisters at one point; it just disables their vocal cords when its on. You'd be fine to take it off – but," he pauses, chuckling, "don't fall too head-over-heels, kid; especially since she'll be able to talk again. She's still a _Big Sister._ Though… that might _encourage_ you, haha! Try not to get _too _loud!"

He's going to pay, one day.

The voice dissipates, and Delta bites his lip. To remove it, or to not… _Well, might as well._

Timid hands fumble from his sides, and he grips the Sister's helmet in concern. _What DO they look like under those helmets? Used to be Little Sisters…?_ The dome detaches from her suit automatically at the tugging motion, and the airlocks release as the locks pop one by one from their holding places. Lifting the helmet from her face sluggishly, Delta gasps.

_She's… she's…_

Long, flowing, silky black hair flows down around a pale, sculptured face. Piercing, glowing golden eyes peer up at him with luscious, full, purple lips. A single scar runs down through the skin above and below her right eye, and is a distorted yet oddly fitting color. Her cheeks are soft, yet defined; her face comparable to that of a corrupted angel's. She blinks at him curiously, tilting her head slightly before wincing. Her lips part and she breathes quietly as Delta gazes down at her in shock.

_…Beautiful…_

"…Mr. Bubbles…? A…are y-you o… okay?" her voice is soothing and sweet, yet slightly tainted and chillingly ghostly; it echoes softly into Delta's helmet, swirling around in his head. She winces once more, her hands taking his and squeezing lightly after releasing his head. "…Mr. Bubbles?"

Delta blinks once, and shakes himself from his thoughts quickly. Gaze centering on the girl before him, his screen turns a bright green and he pats her head gently, ruffling her hair. She squeaks in response, smiling at him – and the metal giant feels his heart warm for the first time in… a time long forgotten. The two sit in silence for minutes, before Delta shifts. _I still need to tend to the rest of her body._ Motioning to her with hand signals as before, he points to her body and cocks his head curiously. _Hopefully she understands…_

She frowns, glancing down at herself. "It… hurts… It hurts, Mr. Bubbles." She gestures to her ribs, and then clutches her arm. She whimpers, and her eyes return to the Alpha Daddy. He nods, craning his head back up to the room surrounding them. Gesturing to her silently, he attempts to show her that he will only be gone a few minutes – in which the girl reluctantly sighs, but nods – and he rises to his feet.

A quick inspection of the room turns up with a few medical kits, a medical station, and some more alcohol. He ignores a safe in the back corner of the office-like area at the other end of the room, and instead returns to his newfound acquaintance; she crosses her arms as he approaches, and pouts at him – which causes Delta to shudder at the cute expression on her face. _Stop it, she's wounded._ He scolds himself, willing the slight attraction away as he makes his way back to her side. She smiles in content, humming almost inaudibly as she watches him. "Hi, Mr. Bubbles!"

He waves, a pleasantness settling over him. Attempting to communicate with his hands again, he nods as she stretches her arm out to him. Synchronizing more of the powerful healing kits to her system, he grins in satisfaction as a familiar squelching noise comes once more. The Sister straightens her back, turning rigid as she shuts her eyes – _she must not be very used to the feeling of using health kits. Poor girl._ As the warm liquid flows through her, she gasps as Delta presumes the redness finally makes its way to her lower torso. Her neck cranes around, and she faces him with a grateful smile. Delta chuckles as she looks herself over after the kit assumedly empties. Stretching her arms and wiggling her body, she purrs like a cat.

Before he has time to react, her brows fall and her lips curl into a devilish smile, and she pounces on him. She tackles him to the adjacent wall, and he slams into it clumsily as he coughs in surprise. She giggles, hugging him tight with her arms wrapped fully about him, nuzzling into him. "Mr. Bubbles is my hero!" She beams at him, staring into his haywire porthole with a fond twinkle in her glowing eyes. Delta, finally reacting, grumbles and shakes his head – stirring another fit of pleased giggles from the girl. Wrapping an arm about her lithe, warm figure, he pats her head with his other hand and then lies back against the wall… and now that he notices the hard feeling wedged in his back, what remains of the girl's syringe. He tilts his head questioningly at it, and then at its owner, who frowns. "I… can't take it off, it'll… hurt."

_It's probably bound and attached straight to her skin, like my suit is to me…_

He beams at her in reassurance. Ruffling her hair again, she raises a sound of mock protest before he sighs._ Is she my enemy still, or is she not?_ Her expression fills with concern at his exhale, and she cocks her head. She opens her mouth to inquire, but he cuts her off with a raise of his hand.

"Are you… still… with Lamb…?"

The grip on him turns hard, and her eyebrows rise. _Did she forget…?_ He watches her uneasily as she stares almost… _through_ the porthole, into his eyes. She winces, tears welling, and shakes her head. Nestling into him once more, his eyes widen. "…N-no… M-Mr. Bubbles is… is good. Mother is… mistaken." She struggles as she speaks, presumably like he does; the lack of time utilized attempting to talk, and the fiddling with their internal chemistries must make it hard for her, too. "I… will not hurt Mr. Bubbles. Mr. B isn't a bad man!" she exclaims, rubbing her face back and forth against him.

Delta, somewhat relieved, shifts underneath her. As she picks her head up to gaze at him, he motions for her to sit back. She straightens, but remains with her legs bent behind her while she straddles his lap. Running a hand absentmindedly through her hair, his other hand clutches at his helmet's visor, and he yawns. Fatigue starts to settle in him, and he curses it. He hasn't had a stable moment to sleep in days – the hour before his failed attempt to save the fallen Rosie had done little. The Sister shifts, looking at him with playful eyes.

"Is Mr. B sleepy?" she giggles, patting his head. She pauses for a moment, studying him.

Sinclair's voice pierces the duo's bubble, and the Sister jumps timidly once the strange voice returns. It whispers into Mr. Bubble's helmet, and he nods once to it. She tilts her head curiously; _what is Mr. Bubbles doing?_ He points at her, and gestures for her to get up. She grumbles in reluctance, comfortable in his lap, but obediently complies. He holds out his hand for her, and her eyes widen. _What is Mr. Bubbles doing?_ He reaches for her helmet, passing it to her – and she pouts. _Did I do something wrong…?_

"We… find shelter and Vita-Chamber. Need rest." His voice seeps from within the giant helmet, and the Sister's eyes widen. _Mr. Bubbles wants me to come with him?_ Doubt comes to her, and she bites her lip in apprehension. _Mother will be upset if I go with him – but Mr. Bubbles saved me!_ _What has Mother ever done? She… she left me for dead after I failed._ Anger wells in her, and her hand balls tight into a fist. _It's not fair! Everyone but Mother and Sister Eleanor suffer! Mr. Bubbles is not a bad man!_ Rebellion surges through her, and her eyebrows narrow. _Mr. Bubbles wants me – Mother doesn't. Fine!_ Pausing to stare at her baffled knight, she smiles at him and nods slowly.

"Can I go with Mr. Bubbles?"


	5. Chapter 4 TransitionFluff

**12-17-2013; Hi, guys. Thanks so far for the feedback and following - it's been really appreciated. And to the suggestion about the Little Sister/Big Daddy conditioning bond... Thank you for that, I had a vague thought of incorporating that and was hesitant, but I'll definitely do it now instead. Very appreciated. :) **

**The same goes for you, thanks Detra - I'm going to try and maintain and balance out those two feelings, though I don't know how well I can do. :( I hope you can comment and tell me if it starts to meld/fail, so I can try and work on that.**

**Alright though, this chapter's more basically about fluffy, coziness developing between the two protectors, and a slight transition - I'm going to try and transition the characters into a slightly different plot; to follow the main game as it is, but with my own little twists and tweaks here and there. I hope all goes well, and I'll try to see about getting a longer, more story-based chapter up later today since it's a snow day for me, and all.**

**Thank you all, and let's progress! Onward, with fluff!**

* * *

Delta yawns, blinking his eyes lazily as he stretches his large arms over his helmeted head. Twisting his head this way and that, he sighs in satisfaction as the muscles in his neck region pop and release tension, and his sight improves as the sleepiness seeps from him. Dark, teal walls surround him with large reinforced glass panes about ten feet up the wall casting a gloomy illumination on the room, and as the Alpha Daddy glances about, he soaks in the sight of the room that he has camped in for a few hours of rest. The room is similar to that of a modified supply closet, having been a short distance's progress from the intersection from before; long, sturdy, mahogany benches lay across the outer perimeter of the room beside extensive lines of faded iron lockers. The floor is slightly coated in slimy, earthen-green grime, and a small pool of water seems to have settled within the room. At the end of the room, where Delta had chosen to rest, there had been an old black steel bedframe with a couple mattresses piled on it, with a few security blankets and pillows packaged safely away in a stack of crates near the entrance of the room. The door leading to this closet is imbued with an advanced security system that he had only just barely cracked, and modified to accept solely him and his newfound partner.

_Speaking of which… Where is she?_

His eyes bounce along the room's interior in minor alarm, and as he attempts to rise from the mattress, he freezes at the moderate resistance resting along his stomach down to his left leg. His gaze falls down, and his eyebrows rise in a mixture of amusement and an unknown feeling; the Sister seems to have made herself comfortable, snuggled against him with her legs straddling his left one. She snoozes peacefully against his armored frame, and her diving dome lies singularly beside the bedside on one of the benches; her silky raven-hair is messy and rests over her face in clumped, slightly damp daggers, and glistens angelically in the mundane lighting – as does her porcelain-seeming, perfectly pure face. Her eyes are closed with lengthy, well-maintained eyelashes fluttering gently with each soft breath that draws from her feminine form, and her lips are parted only barely as she inhales dreamily. A small trail of saliva drips from her mouth, down out of the corner and along her face, and finally into a tiny pool forming on Delta's body and the strange scar tracing over her right eye is only faintly noticeable. Her suit, now that he remembers, is repaired and fits wholly with her blossomed form, and her hands are lazily outstretched, gripped firmly against the material of his armor.

The Daddy's eyes soften and profound serenity claims him as he inspects his dozing friend; he isn't going anywhere, even if he wanted to – she is intent to ensure that. Not that he entirely desires to, mind it all – in fact, he is rather nicely settled and the warmth she instills into him is pleasurable, to say the least. Extending an arm, it wraps about her while his other hand strokes her hair absentmindedly. He brushes the clumped strands from her eyes, and gingerly drags his fingers along the back of her head; the rough material of his gloves must have an alluring effect, as she gasps in his hold and shudders, stirring quietly.

Gold eyes pry open in teenage reluctance, and she groans as the light catches in them. Turning her head to the other side, she squeaks as she tries to rise – a firm arm is wrapped around her while another massages her skull! She slowly glances back, and she purrs as her eyes settle on the Alpha Subject's glowing, friendly emerald porthole. Her lips curl into a contented smile, and she wiggles her body further into him as she shudders – _it's always too cold down here in Rapture…_

The pair shares an unspoken moment, happily basking in the other's affections while they wake up. Delta smiles behind his monstrous helmet, and peace washes over him. Company is… nice. He missed it, and he desperately hoped he would be able to save someone – and he is glad that it was this Big Sister. He blinks once however, curiosity filling him. _I wonder…_

"Do you have a name?"

The Big Sister jumps, still ill-prepared every time that Mr. Bubbles speaks. _His voice is so… I can't even explain it! So low and hoarse, yet it just… fits._ She pauses to wiggle her face against his chest, and contemplates his question. _A name…? Mother always tried to just refer to us as 'Dark Hands' and 'Protectors', but… I think, before she put me in this suit… as a Little Sister, I used to be…_

"… Sylvie. I'm… Sylvie Aria, Mr. Bubbles," she responds sheepishly to him. _What if Mr. Bubbles doesn't like my name? Or what if… he doesn't remember me?_ She stares into the blank, processing visor of her old Daddy, and bites her lip in worry. She nestles into him further, concerned, and her heart sinks as that generic yellow color returns.

He embraces her sporadically, rubbing her back reassuringly as he grins, enjoying the surprised, innocent yelp that emits from the girl's cute mouth. "Sylvie… I haven't seen you… in a long time." He nods at her, and watches her expression quickly alter into one of pleasant adoration. _Of course, I met her back when I was traveling with Elly… She had been lost, and Eleanor wanted me to take her with us out to play. I protected them and bid them both farewells at that ventilation… two months before that fateful New Year's Eve. While this wasn't the first or the last Little Sister that Elly and I traveled with… Sylvie also adored me the most out of all of them, besides Eleanor herself. How ironic…_

"I missed you, Mr. Bubbles. The… other Big Daddies were never as nice as you." He chuckles slightly from behind his mask, and while his vocal cords are slowly returning – the laugh sounds as though it is ragged coughing, and the girl pouts in worry. "Mr. B? Are you okay?"

He raises a hand and calms her, nudging her in a teasing manner as she squirms in his lap. She grumbles in mock frustration, but her contentedness is obvious alongside the beaming expression gracing her sweet, pale lips. The two grin at one another, and sit for a moment in unspoken reluctance as the sounds of Splicers dragging their metal pipes along the wall outside their little sanctuary break the dream. _Of course… This is still Rapture, and I still need to save my Eleanor. Though, will Sylvie…?_

"…Let's go, Mr. Bubbles. Let's save Sister Eleanor."

The Daddy nods to her, his lips pursed in neutrality. Sylvie rises from his lap, and meanders over to the bench with her mask on it, and grips it. Taking one last look at him, she smiles happily and situates it on her feminine head; metal and gas sounds emanate through the room as the suit adapts and absorbs the dome back into the armor, and once finished – the familiar, somewhat unnerving yellow glowing visor stares back at Delta. The Daddy pauses for a minute, frowning, and motions to the girl once more. _We're missing something on her armor…_ The girl tilts her head, and then glances down at her arms in surprise – _where is her syringe…?_

Delta's frown worsens, and he walks about the room; he inspects the lockers and takes their more valuable contents, but the syringe is gone… _That is not a good…_ A yelp pierces the air from behind him, and he whirls around in concern – but it appears he has no reason to fear. Sylvie stands in awe, looking at her right arm as the syringe-blade draws from within her suit. _It's retractable now? Was that function broken the entire time she wandered about the halls?_ She turns her attentions to him, and then back to the weapon, and Delta smirks behind the screen; he can imagine the surprised, curious face easily now.

Waving at her to draw her attention back to him, he beckons her with a finger and she nods. They carefully exit the sanctuary, and as Delta rearms the security device, he gazes up and down the stark halls; slimy, film-covered blue and green stone pave the way on both the floors and walls, and are coated with various bloods, graffiti, and other strange things that Delta likely does not want to know the origins. Corpses litter the floor, both mutilated and broken and in the distance the Splicers from before wander along. The Daddy frowns, gazing up and down the halls once more to see if any other threats exist; his search turns up luckily fruitless, and he beckons to the patient Sister again; Sylvie waves her hand in understanding, and they set off. The halls are relatively empty, save the unintentional noisy clomping of Delta's heavy, weighted boots, and the rustling of debris scattering under the two metal-coated divers, and the walk is held in subsequent silence following the brief corpse-scavenging stops. Sylvie remains close beside Delta, but prowls with much more subtle care as her footfalls are noiseless. Her visor remains trained on the Big Daddy and her mind wanders as they walk, but Delta has no time to pay it heed.

They arrive at a set of bulkhead doors with signs pointing forward into… _a tram? An underwater tram system? We have those in Rapture?_ He pauses curiously; an eyebrow peaked, and checks about their present location suspiciously. _Why does he have a bad feeling?_ There have been little to no interruptions since he eliminated that pack of Splicers and rescued Sylvie, and the halls have been nearly… quiet. For one as noisy as he, who is heard miles off due to his heavy stomps… the lack of hostility is bothersome. Sylvie seems to sense it as well, as she wraps her arm about his nervously; listening with focus for any movement… but there isn't any.

"Sport, hey," Sinclair's voice penetrates the silence, earning a curt grunt of fright from both divers-gone-killers alike. He chuckles sheepishly, sighing into the radio. "I'm sorry for scaring you and your newfound friend… but it looks like that that's a bonafide, working tram system up ahead. It'll lead you out of these back-alleys and into the actual city. You'll end up in an area called 'Ryan Amusements'; a shabby place, no longer in its former glory – but it'll get you and the lady back on track so you can finally get closer to finding Eleanor. I know I've had you runnin' this way and that, but this time, I can guarantee we're makin' progress. And, I know it's probably really quiet down there… it won't be, once you make it to Ryan Amusements; trust me. That's when the real challenge begins. Good luck, kiddo – and I hope you're really sure about takin' that girl of yours with you." The voice drifts off, leaving Delta to grunt in annoyance, and hope the man heard it. Of course he trusts Sylvie! Unlike most humans, Little Sisters and Big Daddies have been more trustworthy to him – so why not a Big Sister, and especially one that he has known for years now?

Motioning to Sylvie, whose porthole is a slightly perturbed yellow, the light quickly turns to an emerald green as he extends his hand to her. She takes it happily, pulling his arm between hers as they walk, and she nuzzles into his shoulder. He smiles, peering forward as the bulkhead door labeled 'Atlantic Express' pries open noisily, leading way to a large, spacious terminal room. Flood-lights bask down from overhead with a massive train-car resting in a forgotten sleep on the far end of the room – long ago had it stopped being utilized, as proven by the lack of an actual control room and the slight rust forming on the metal bars from which it hangs. Making their way carefully past the aged, deteriorating benches, the steel doors leading into the car stir in anxious satisfaction finally at their need. The pair step into the small control center, and Sylvie slips from her hold on Delta, and makes her way to the nearest seat. Plopping down tiredly, she stretches her arms overhead and yawns within her dome and her eyes narrow on the Alpha Daddy as he works. She purrs, crossing her legs. After a short discussion on how to operate a train, Delta throws the switch and sets the destination, and the tram whirs to life. The dusty lights flash on, and the car rumbles slightly, screeching, and then it sets off.

Delta pivots on his heel, trudging back into the cart, toward the seats. His eyes flash to Sylvie, who is stretched out, observing him with curiosity. Shrugging it off, he throws himself into the seat adjacent her, and lets his head fly back into the tannish-yellow cushioning as he groans. _Progress is finally going to be made… Eleanor, Father is coming._ His mind slips into a daze as his eyes train on the ceiling of the cart above, and he blinks once lazily. He stretches his arms back, letting them be propped up by the seats on either side of him, and he shuts his eyes tiredly. While the nap from earlier had been nice… he couldn't help but shake the fatigue and coldness overcoming him. He glances over to Sylvie, silently wishing for her to join him. He grimaces with himself, admonishing the thought. _That can't be normal – stop it Delta, she is supposed to be like your daughter. Though, it's not like it'd be a huge problem, I'm just cold…_

Sylvie inspects Mr. Bubbles with intrigue, watching him as he sprawls out. His body language indicates he's tired… _did I stop him from sleeping before?_ She frowns behind the safety of the metal helm, and pouts. She wants to sit in his lap and have him pet her… but is that selfish? She wants him to hold her and play with her hair like before… but he looks so tired! _Should I leave him be…? I want to sit with Mr. Bubbles…_ She squirms in hesitation – _what are with these weird feelings? Why do I want to be around Mr. Bubbles so much…?_

Her concentration is broken as Mr. Bubbles grumbles, shivering. She glances at his body, and smiles in clever thought. _If he's cold… I can warm him up! That's not bad!_ She eagerly crawls from her seat, sneaking along the train cart and over to her resting knight. She grins happily, and – ensuring that her syringe is safely sheathed, she remembers – wraps her arms around his trunk-like torso, and tugs herself lightly into his lap. Curling herself into him, his body tenses in surprise and she can sense his eyes glance down at her – but he does not attempt to push her off. Instead, his left arm snakes around her back and pulls her gently against him, and she squeaks a sound of approval. _It worked! Yes!_ She nestles herself joyfully against him, keeping her helmet against his chest while he rubs her back contentedly. She purrs, shutting her eyes, and sleep quickly claims her warm and fuzzy mind.

_Mr. Bubbles… is so comfortable…_

* * *

**I'm not sure how I did with this, but I'm content with how my writing is coming along - much better than what I first thought it was, I like to think. What are your thoughts on it? Lacking description, emotion, any of that? Or is it alright as it is? And, do you guys like the name for the Big Sister? I didn't want to copy anyone else who named the Sisters, so I was hoping this one worked alright. I think it's rather pretty, myself. :)**

**Now to try and get to work on a stable chapter... :S**


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